Fic: Chrysanthemum Effect (for summer_bits)
Title: Chrysanthemum Effect
Author: stellaluna_
Fandom: CSI:NY
Rating: NC-17 for explicit sex and language
Summary: It's just a little misdemeanor. Stella/Mac.
Disclaimer: None of these are mine. Characters are the property of Anthony Zuiker, Jerry Bruckheimer Television, CBS, and Alliance Atlantis.
Notes: Written for the summer_bits ficathon.
Stella squints into the setting sun and pushes her sunglasses up on her nose, then tilts her head back to study the sky. The skyline is almost all indigo now, with just a few last streaks of orange around its edges, and so she figures it won't be much longer until it's full dark.
"Fireworks should be starting soon," she says, and Mac nods.
"Nice, clear night for it," he says.
Nice, clear night for it, and up here on the roof of his building, there's also a nice breeze off the river, a relief after the stickiness of the day. "By the way," Stella says, trying to sound like she's just thought of it, "I have a surprise for you."
Mac, who doesn't do well with surprises, looks instantly suspicious. "What's that?" he asks.
Stella shakes her head. "That has to wait for dark, too." Mac frowns, and she leans over and pats his arm. "Don't worry; you'll like it. Drink your beer."
He looks down at the bottle in his hand. "I think maybe I should have some water instead."
"Why?"
"This is my third," he says.
"Actually, it's your fourth."
"My fourth? Are you sure?"
Stella waves a hand at the cardboard box they're using for a trash can. "Count the empties," she says. "We already finished the first six-pack. This is the start of the second." And she had let Mac buy the beer, because if there's one thing Mac can be counted on for, it's to pick out good beer. It's a good, strong, dark brew, and Stella has a very nice buzz on by now. Her head is pleasantly swimmy and her limbs are almost too heavy to move, and she's feeling a lazy sense of contentment, glad after all that she's ended up spending the Fourth with Mac.
It hadn't exactly been how she was planning to celebrate the night, but then, she hadn't really had any plans. She'd had a few moments of misgiving, here and there, after they'd decided to watch the fireworks together, but so far, it's been good. It's been a lot like the old days.
"Guess it is four," Mac says, looking up from the box.
"Told you," she says, and raises her bottle in a little salute.
He sits back down. "You always know best," he says, and smiles.
"Damn right I do." The sun has dipped even lower now, and she takes off her sunglasses and sets them aside.
"So what's this surprise of yours?" he asks. "Looks to me like it's dark enough." He's slurring his words just a little now, she notices, as if making him aware of how much he's had to drink has let his buzz kick in all the way.
"You think so?" Stella studies the sky again. "I guess it is," she says, and reaches for her bag. Mac is still watching this with suspicion, and his frown only deepens when she shows him what she bought on Mott Street the day before.
"Stella," he says, "what are these?"
Since Mac can see perfectly well for himself what they are, she doesn't say anything, just watches him sort through all of it.
"Roman candles, fountains, shells..." He sets the bag down. "Stella, you do remember that consumer fireworks are illegal everywhere in New York State, right?"
"Sure," she says.
"And you went ahead and bought these anyway."
"It's not like it's a strictly-enforced law." She takes another sip of beer. "Look around you. Hell, listen. People have been setting off fireworks all day." As if to prove her point, a high-pitched whistle sounds from a block or two over, and a shower of orange sparks explodes over the Promenade.
"Actually, they've been setting them off all week," he says.
"See?"
"That's not exactly an argument for -- "
"C'mon, Mac," she says. "It'll be fun. You can't tell me that you think NYPD should be devoting more time to busting fireworks miscreants."
"No, but there's a reason the laws are in place," he says. "Consumer fireworks are dangerous."
"In the hands of people who don't use them properly," she says. "Are you going to tell me that you, Mac Taylor, don't know how to observe proper safety procedures for handling explosive devices?"
His mouth twitches, and he picks up a Roman candle, turning it between his fingers.
Stella leans forward. "It doesn't even fall under our department purview," she says. "It's just a little misdemeanor."
Mac stands up. "I'm going to go get some water," he says. "Since you were talking about proper safety procedures and all."
Stella smiles up at him. "I'll be waiting."
A few minutes later, the sky above the building is lit up with bursts of color and Stella's ears are ringing from the explosions, and Mac is smiling in a way she hasn't seen in forever. He lights the fuse on another rocket, and it sails upward with a piercing whistle, then dissolves into a spill of white sparks. Mac actually laughs out loud, clapping, and for a moment the grin on his face makes him look like someone else, someone younger and less careworn.
"Okay, my turn," Stella says. She takes the lighter and touches it to the fuse of a candle, then backs off. It shoots into the sky, then explodes in a series of pops.
"All right," Mac says, and applauds again. Stella looks at him in wonder. He smiles at her, eyes bright, then kneels down to light another rocket.
They're both expecting to go off, like the others have, but it just lies on the surface of the rooftop, fuse burning down steadily. "Oh, shit," Stella says after a few seconds, and backs off fast until she's standing with her back to the roof door, with Mac just a step behind her. They both watch it burn, and Stella can feel her heart beating hard.
She's starting to think that maybe they should go grab the fire extinguisher or something when the fuse burns all the way down, and then the rocket burns out with a soft fizzing sound.
They stare at each other for another few seconds, wide-eyed, and then they both start laughing. "Must have been a dud," Stella says, suddenly giddy, almost dizzy, with relief.
"Guess so," Mac says. They're both still laughing when he leans in to kiss her.
Stella kisses him back, and he tastes like sweet, dark malt. She turns toward him, pressing herself into his body, and his fingers tangle in her hair. "I should," he says in between kisses, "I should put that in water once," and she leans back against the door, pulling him with her, "once it cools off."
"Probably a good idea," she says, and slips her hands under his shirt, and he keeps kissing her instead.
His skin is warm under her hands, and he's hard against her, and Stella feels herself going liquid already, melting even though he still hasn't done anything more than kiss her. He brushes a hand across her breasts and her body tightens with excitement, muscles in her stomach tensing and a soft, steady throbbing beginning between her legs.
"How long has it been?" he mutters against her mouth, and she doesn't even try to answer him, because what can she say to that? Too long, years, longer still since they've done it when they didn't have the excuse of one of them almost getting shot or run over or otherwise almost killed. Her head is spinning now with his mouth as well as with the beer, and she bites her lip to keep from gasping when he slides his hands inside her shirt and starts to rub her nipples.
"You know, someone could see us," she says into his ear, more because she's curious about what he'll say, what he'll do, than because she's really worried about it. She feels a little flare of self-consciousness, of exposure, if she thinks about it too long, because this is Brooklyn, and it's the Fourth, and any number of people could be out on their rooftops, but she doesn't want to think about it, doesn't want to lose the moment in second-guessing herself.
"No one's looking," he says. "They're all watching the fireworks."
She pulls back a little, just enough so that she can look into his face. He's still smiling, and his eyes are brighter than ever. "Really," she says.
"Sure."
"So if I do this..." She undoes the button on his pants and his breathing quickens, then turns into a choked gasp when she wraps her fingers around his erection. "You're not worried."
His eyes slide closed for a moment as he rocks into her hand. "No." It's barely a whisper, and then his hand moves down her stomach and his fingers tremble at the button on her jeans, and if she was liquid before, she's molten now as he touches her, as he strokes her clit in a slow rhythm that makes her bite his lip in the middle of their next kiss.
After that Stella forgets about thinking, forgets about either one of them second-guessing themselves. She has a moment, as he slides her panties down past her hips and she steps out of them, to be grateful that shirts are long again this year, but then he lifts her and she wraps her legs around his waist, and there's a cool breeze on her bare thighs as he slides into her, and none of the rest of it matters anymore.
He's hot and hard inside her, mouth insistent on hers as they move, and she braces her back against the door and tries to get as much leverage as she can, raising herself the length of his cock and then sliding back down, listening to his little moans and the sounds they're both making, lost in the wetness of his mouth and the heat of his breath as they kiss and arch against each other.
Her orgasm hits her before she's really ready for it, and she comes with Mac's lips on her throat and her nails digging into his neck, a quick, sharp shock that's not nearly enough, that leaves her still quivering in anticipation and writhing into him. He comes too, a moment later, with a deep groan, hands tightening on her until it's almost painful, and whispers her name, shuddering.
He lets go of her slowly, like he's reluctant to let go of her, sets her down on her feet and then pulls her close again, leaning heavily against her and breathing hard. She wraps her arms around his neck and kisses his forehead, the side of his face, and then his mouth again when he nuzzles into her.
From across the river, there's a deep boom, and she feels the percussive thrum in the soles of her feet, a deep vibration that seems to go through her entire body. They both look up in time to see the first of the city's official fireworks explode above the water. A red star forms in the air and then spokes shoot out from its heart, cluster upon cluster of smaller red stars.
"That's called the chrysanthemum effect," he says, still holding her close.
"Really," she says, and he nods. "Sounds to me like maybe you've had previous experience with fireworks after all."
He looks at her, and she can't help laughing. "Maybe so," he says, and then straightens up, fixing his pants. "But we can talk about that some other time."
"Oh, you bet we will," she says, and smooths her shirt down over her hips. "Looks like it's going to be a hell of a show."
"It does." He watches as a barrage of rockets go off. "Too bad we're going to miss the rest of it."
"We are?"
"I think so." Mac leans in close, mouth against her ear. "I need to take my time with you, and for that we should go downstairs."
Stella tangles her fingers in his hair. "That seems only fair. They'll probably rerun it on TV later, anyway." They kiss again, softer this time, afterimages burning on the insides of her eyelids. She was right, she thinks; she can't think of a better way to celebrate the night.
She takes him by the hand, and the river is still lit up with stars as he follows her inside.
Feedback is always appreciated.
Author: stellaluna_
Fandom: CSI:NY
Rating: NC-17 for explicit sex and language
Summary: It's just a little misdemeanor. Stella/Mac.
Disclaimer: None of these are mine. Characters are the property of Anthony Zuiker, Jerry Bruckheimer Television, CBS, and Alliance Atlantis.
Notes: Written for the summer_bits ficathon.
Stella squints into the setting sun and pushes her sunglasses up on her nose, then tilts her head back to study the sky. The skyline is almost all indigo now, with just a few last streaks of orange around its edges, and so she figures it won't be much longer until it's full dark.
"Fireworks should be starting soon," she says, and Mac nods.
"Nice, clear night for it," he says.
Nice, clear night for it, and up here on the roof of his building, there's also a nice breeze off the river, a relief after the stickiness of the day. "By the way," Stella says, trying to sound like she's just thought of it, "I have a surprise for you."
Mac, who doesn't do well with surprises, looks instantly suspicious. "What's that?" he asks.
Stella shakes her head. "That has to wait for dark, too." Mac frowns, and she leans over and pats his arm. "Don't worry; you'll like it. Drink your beer."
He looks down at the bottle in his hand. "I think maybe I should have some water instead."
"Why?"
"This is my third," he says.
"Actually, it's your fourth."
"My fourth? Are you sure?"
Stella waves a hand at the cardboard box they're using for a trash can. "Count the empties," she says. "We already finished the first six-pack. This is the start of the second." And she had let Mac buy the beer, because if there's one thing Mac can be counted on for, it's to pick out good beer. It's a good, strong, dark brew, and Stella has a very nice buzz on by now. Her head is pleasantly swimmy and her limbs are almost too heavy to move, and she's feeling a lazy sense of contentment, glad after all that she's ended up spending the Fourth with Mac.
It hadn't exactly been how she was planning to celebrate the night, but then, she hadn't really had any plans. She'd had a few moments of misgiving, here and there, after they'd decided to watch the fireworks together, but so far, it's been good. It's been a lot like the old days.
"Guess it is four," Mac says, looking up from the box.
"Told you," she says, and raises her bottle in a little salute.
He sits back down. "You always know best," he says, and smiles.
"Damn right I do." The sun has dipped even lower now, and she takes off her sunglasses and sets them aside.
"So what's this surprise of yours?" he asks. "Looks to me like it's dark enough." He's slurring his words just a little now, she notices, as if making him aware of how much he's had to drink has let his buzz kick in all the way.
"You think so?" Stella studies the sky again. "I guess it is," she says, and reaches for her bag. Mac is still watching this with suspicion, and his frown only deepens when she shows him what she bought on Mott Street the day before.
"Stella," he says, "what are these?"
Since Mac can see perfectly well for himself what they are, she doesn't say anything, just watches him sort through all of it.
"Roman candles, fountains, shells..." He sets the bag down. "Stella, you do remember that consumer fireworks are illegal everywhere in New York State, right?"
"Sure," she says.
"And you went ahead and bought these anyway."
"It's not like it's a strictly-enforced law." She takes another sip of beer. "Look around you. Hell, listen. People have been setting off fireworks all day." As if to prove her point, a high-pitched whistle sounds from a block or two over, and a shower of orange sparks explodes over the Promenade.
"Actually, they've been setting them off all week," he says.
"See?"
"That's not exactly an argument for -- "
"C'mon, Mac," she says. "It'll be fun. You can't tell me that you think NYPD should be devoting more time to busting fireworks miscreants."
"No, but there's a reason the laws are in place," he says. "Consumer fireworks are dangerous."
"In the hands of people who don't use them properly," she says. "Are you going to tell me that you, Mac Taylor, don't know how to observe proper safety procedures for handling explosive devices?"
His mouth twitches, and he picks up a Roman candle, turning it between his fingers.
Stella leans forward. "It doesn't even fall under our department purview," she says. "It's just a little misdemeanor."
Mac stands up. "I'm going to go get some water," he says. "Since you were talking about proper safety procedures and all."
Stella smiles up at him. "I'll be waiting."
A few minutes later, the sky above the building is lit up with bursts of color and Stella's ears are ringing from the explosions, and Mac is smiling in a way she hasn't seen in forever. He lights the fuse on another rocket, and it sails upward with a piercing whistle, then dissolves into a spill of white sparks. Mac actually laughs out loud, clapping, and for a moment the grin on his face makes him look like someone else, someone younger and less careworn.
"Okay, my turn," Stella says. She takes the lighter and touches it to the fuse of a candle, then backs off. It shoots into the sky, then explodes in a series of pops.
"All right," Mac says, and applauds again. Stella looks at him in wonder. He smiles at her, eyes bright, then kneels down to light another rocket.
They're both expecting to go off, like the others have, but it just lies on the surface of the rooftop, fuse burning down steadily. "Oh, shit," Stella says after a few seconds, and backs off fast until she's standing with her back to the roof door, with Mac just a step behind her. They both watch it burn, and Stella can feel her heart beating hard.
She's starting to think that maybe they should go grab the fire extinguisher or something when the fuse burns all the way down, and then the rocket burns out with a soft fizzing sound.
They stare at each other for another few seconds, wide-eyed, and then they both start laughing. "Must have been a dud," Stella says, suddenly giddy, almost dizzy, with relief.
"Guess so," Mac says. They're both still laughing when he leans in to kiss her.
Stella kisses him back, and he tastes like sweet, dark malt. She turns toward him, pressing herself into his body, and his fingers tangle in her hair. "I should," he says in between kisses, "I should put that in water once," and she leans back against the door, pulling him with her, "once it cools off."
"Probably a good idea," she says, and slips her hands under his shirt, and he keeps kissing her instead.
His skin is warm under her hands, and he's hard against her, and Stella feels herself going liquid already, melting even though he still hasn't done anything more than kiss her. He brushes a hand across her breasts and her body tightens with excitement, muscles in her stomach tensing and a soft, steady throbbing beginning between her legs.
"How long has it been?" he mutters against her mouth, and she doesn't even try to answer him, because what can she say to that? Too long, years, longer still since they've done it when they didn't have the excuse of one of them almost getting shot or run over or otherwise almost killed. Her head is spinning now with his mouth as well as with the beer, and she bites her lip to keep from gasping when he slides his hands inside her shirt and starts to rub her nipples.
"You know, someone could see us," she says into his ear, more because she's curious about what he'll say, what he'll do, than because she's really worried about it. She feels a little flare of self-consciousness, of exposure, if she thinks about it too long, because this is Brooklyn, and it's the Fourth, and any number of people could be out on their rooftops, but she doesn't want to think about it, doesn't want to lose the moment in second-guessing herself.
"No one's looking," he says. "They're all watching the fireworks."
She pulls back a little, just enough so that she can look into his face. He's still smiling, and his eyes are brighter than ever. "Really," she says.
"Sure."
"So if I do this..." She undoes the button on his pants and his breathing quickens, then turns into a choked gasp when she wraps her fingers around his erection. "You're not worried."
His eyes slide closed for a moment as he rocks into her hand. "No." It's barely a whisper, and then his hand moves down her stomach and his fingers tremble at the button on her jeans, and if she was liquid before, she's molten now as he touches her, as he strokes her clit in a slow rhythm that makes her bite his lip in the middle of their next kiss.
After that Stella forgets about thinking, forgets about either one of them second-guessing themselves. She has a moment, as he slides her panties down past her hips and she steps out of them, to be grateful that shirts are long again this year, but then he lifts her and she wraps her legs around his waist, and there's a cool breeze on her bare thighs as he slides into her, and none of the rest of it matters anymore.
He's hot and hard inside her, mouth insistent on hers as they move, and she braces her back against the door and tries to get as much leverage as she can, raising herself the length of his cock and then sliding back down, listening to his little moans and the sounds they're both making, lost in the wetness of his mouth and the heat of his breath as they kiss and arch against each other.
Her orgasm hits her before she's really ready for it, and she comes with Mac's lips on her throat and her nails digging into his neck, a quick, sharp shock that's not nearly enough, that leaves her still quivering in anticipation and writhing into him. He comes too, a moment later, with a deep groan, hands tightening on her until it's almost painful, and whispers her name, shuddering.
He lets go of her slowly, like he's reluctant to let go of her, sets her down on her feet and then pulls her close again, leaning heavily against her and breathing hard. She wraps her arms around his neck and kisses his forehead, the side of his face, and then his mouth again when he nuzzles into her.
From across the river, there's a deep boom, and she feels the percussive thrum in the soles of her feet, a deep vibration that seems to go through her entire body. They both look up in time to see the first of the city's official fireworks explode above the water. A red star forms in the air and then spokes shoot out from its heart, cluster upon cluster of smaller red stars.
"That's called the chrysanthemum effect," he says, still holding her close.
"Really," she says, and he nods. "Sounds to me like maybe you've had previous experience with fireworks after all."
He looks at her, and she can't help laughing. "Maybe so," he says, and then straightens up, fixing his pants. "But we can talk about that some other time."
"Oh, you bet we will," she says, and smooths her shirt down over her hips. "Looks like it's going to be a hell of a show."
"It does." He watches as a barrage of rockets go off. "Too bad we're going to miss the rest of it."
"We are?"
"I think so." Mac leans in close, mouth against her ear. "I need to take my time with you, and for that we should go downstairs."
Stella tangles her fingers in his hair. "That seems only fair. They'll probably rerun it on TV later, anyway." They kiss again, softer this time, afterimages burning on the insides of her eyelids. She was right, she thinks; she can't think of a better way to celebrate the night.
She takes him by the hand, and the river is still lit up with stars as he follows her inside.
Feedback is always appreciated.